


Naming It

by thinkatory



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, F/F, Femslash February, Femslash February Trope Bingo, Mild Language, Minor Kismesissitude, Quadrant Vacillation, femtropebingo, tropey as fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-11 13:35:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3328409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinkatory/pseuds/thinkatory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Superhero AU.</p>
<p>  <i>“And everyone loves me. Or hates me. But who cares which,” Vriska says swiftly, “because I don’t. Take a lesson from me, Redglare. What you need’s a name, a better costume, and a rival. Villain’s better, but I’ll do the job if you really, really insist.”</i></p>
<p>  <i>“I don’t,” Terezi says. Vriska’s really close to her, actually, and she hates the instinct, that old instinct, creeping up on her. She knows who’s under that hood and behind that mask, she knows her lips and her fangs and her awesome tongue, but that was a long time ago and there’s no way, no. fucking. way. that Terezi’s doing this again. “I don’t insist at all.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Naming It

Having superpowers is so incredibly cool.

Terezi doesn’t even really know how it happened. One day she walked down a street in a bad area in Trollhattan, then something exploded, she went deaf (for just a while) as well as essentially blind. Then the next time a defendant came after her, she shoved him and nearly broke him in half against the marble wall of the courthouse.

“Huh,” she’d said.

So, superstrength. Healing ability. Some psychic ability. She has the feeling she should probably investigate what caused all this at some point, but she’s not too bothered. It didn’t do any real harm, as far as she knows, and now she can punish criminals in the legal sense at day and scare information the fuck out of them at night.

It’s so immensely helpful.

There’s only four people in the whole of New York State who’d know upon seeing her costume who she was. And that’s what superhero costumes should be, something that means something to you and not really to anyone else, unless you’re something obvious like a guy who can set his body on fire naturally or someone who can run really fast who puts a lightning bolt on his spandex suit.

The only really obnoxious thing is that the press hasn’t given her a name yet. This is mostly because she actually haven’t really been caught on camera by the press yet. She’s working on a name so she can sign a note with it eventually, though.

She’s stalking a mid-level mobster down the street, trenchcoat closed and hat casually tipped over her face, and then something flickers past her ‘vision’ and she glances instinctively. When she looks back, the mobster’s not there.

“Shit,” she swears -- how could he have possibly known he was being followed? She was a hundred feet behind him -- and doubles back into an alley to regroup.

“Helloooooooo, Redglare,” a familiar voice croons.

Terezi tenses. She looks up, and the indigo shades of Spidertroll are almost all she can taste in the dark. She’s up underneath a fire escape like an insect waiting to get crushed by a shoe. “Mindfang.” She sniffs again, and a net of webbing drops in front of her face with the mobster in front of her. “What are you doing?”

“Wellllllll, I saw you’d joined the fray. You think I’d miss you running around here?” Vriska brushes that off. “You need a name.”

Now it’s even more obnoxious. “I know.”

“Not that anyone besides me and a few others even know you’re here.”

Now it’s intensely obnoxious. “ _I know_.”

“So I got you a gift! Since you’re clearly starting out. You don’t have great powers,” Vriska notes. “You need gadgets. I’d help you, but that’d be helping competition. Well, kind of. I’m not all goody-whatever like you are. Boring.”

“Too many rules?” Terezi asks, sardonically, and doesn’t flinch when the netted mobster drops in front of her with a yelp when he hits the ground. “I’d say ‘thanks’ but I didn’t need your help.”

“Oh, you did.”

She opens her mouth to say something, but Vriska rapidly rappels down a line of webbing and drops down next to the mobster, who’s still prone, and knocks him out with a brutal kick to the head. “So,” she says, flicking Terezi’s hat up before Terezi can smack her hand away or shout at her or anything, “are you going to do this right or not?”

“Do what -- oh, tell me you’re joking,” Terezi says, a little disgusted. “You know we’re not tweens playing comic book hero games on the lawn ring anymore, right?”

“I know. This is real! There’s _no_ point in having superpowers and using superpowers if you’re not going to be classy about it,” Vriska says, tilting her face up to Terezi’s. “Don’t you think?”

“I think I’m being classy about it by not being _flashy_ about it,” she says.

“And everyone loves me. Or hates me. But who cares which,” Vriska says swiftly, “because I don’t. Take a lesson from me, Redglare. What you need’s a name, a better costume, and a rival. Villain’s better, but I’ll do the job if you really, really insist.”

“I don’t,” Terezi says. Vriska’s really close to her, actually, and she hates the instinct, that old instinct, creeping up on her. She knows who’s under that hood and behind that mask, she knows her lips and her fangs and her awesome tongue, but that was a long time ago and there’s no way, no. fucking. way. that Terezi’s doing this again. “I don’t insist at all.”

“Then maybe I’ll have to,” Vriska says. She hasn’t bothered moving her mask -- her identity is, inexplicably, still very secret, after all -- and doesn’t seem to care talking this openly to her own ex-matesprit/ex-kismesis/ex-friend(?) where everyone can hear. Of course she doesn’t care. “You need help, sis? I’ll help.”

Terezi growls, despite herself. _No, not pitch. Not anything._ She needs to put a name on this, not kismessitude, not flushed, just _bad idea_. “I appreciate the gesture,” she forces out, “but no.”

“Oh, come on,” Vriska sighs, “do I have to do everything myself?” She pulls Terezi’s face to hers with a brutal tug on the back of her head and kisses her harshly, and Terezi thinks she might kill her right after this kiss -- maybe after the kiss after that -- maybe -- NO -- ugh, she’s still _too good_ and one day it’s going to be the death of her, she knows that. Vriska shoves her up against the wall of the alley and Terezi shoves her right back, just a step and a half enough to put a distance between them.

Vriska grins; Terezi licks her lips and notes a nick on her lower lip from Vriska’s fangs. She glowers. “Stop it,” she warns her.

“You didn’t mind just then,” Vriska says, “but if you insist.”

“You can’t help yourself either.” Terezi’s taunting even though she wanted to disengage, even though she knows this is what she wants, what brings her back. “You’ll come back. You’ll try and change me, and I won’t.”

Vriska pauses, tilts her head, and considers Terezi. Then she says, “You’re right.”

That’s a surprise. Terezi raises her eyebrows.

“At least about this. I’m not giving up on you.” She tosses her hair, and smiles, broadly, wickedly. “I want a challenge. And something fun to take off at the end of the night.”

“We’re not doing this again,” Terezi says shortly.

“That kiss said otherwise,” Vriska says; her hands drop to her hips and she falls back a step, casually, all posing. “That snark. I can’t figure out if you pity me or hate me but fuck if the vacillation isn’t the greatest part. Especially in bed.”

Much to her horror, Terezi’s blushing. She wishes she was wearing the mask. “Is there a point to this?”

“Simple,” Vriska says. “Don’t fight this. We’re gonna be fantastic.”

Terezi scowls. “No. I’m _not_. You’re selling information to the different syndicates. You’re not a villain, you’re not a hero, you’re just…”

“A troll?” she suggests, faux-innocently.

Vriska looks way too self-satisfied. Terezi has to force herself not to wipe that smirk off her face with the pitchest makeout ever seen in Trollhattan, blood drawn, clothes torn, oh fuck no. She can’t. She has shit to be doing. “Go to hell,” Terezi advises, “I have information to get off of this guy.” She grabs the mobster and throws him over her shoulder.

“See you around, Redglare,” Vriska says, and catches her with an arm around the shoulder to whisper in her ear: “I know you’ll be looking.”

Terezi doesn’t have time enough to look, because Vriska’s vanished on her. “Spidertroll,” she hisses, annoyed, and hurries ahead to find a place to interrogate this scum before he wakes up and makes a scene.


End file.
